Madelaine Culver

      Run through the flowers white, on the water’s edge the little boat will take you to a headless woman pale beneath the moonlight arms outstretched     Madelaine Culver is a freelance writer and proofreader with a background in arts...

Finola Scott

      Wake up call you haul me from dream drifting snug in your tangled bed I hear your early-rise kitchen clatter I’m a lay-a-bed, day waster, sloth you remark dark dressed in the doorway I want our mornings to release day’s perfume not...

Aishwarya Raghu

      A Poem about Frost Swan resting on an empty lake: white but for the lake. Blue but for the swan. Winter will set in from the leftmost corner of the lake. Eagle swan. I can no longer tell bird from bird. When winter sets in, the swan will be...

Ashleigh Davies

      Apollo In the leaner times it was a bread and butter supper, slaked with milk, perhaps on the cusp of the turn, the tang fizzing on the tongue-tip. In the fatter times, beef and dripping, the latter glossy, chalk-white and viscous as tart...

Stephanie Limb

    Pearl You say, ‘Hold on to me, I don’t want to lose you in the night. I keep waking up on my own.’ You push your feet between my knees, cling to my neck. My body doesn’t know a different shape to sleep in. I fold around you. Grit in my shell – wrapped in...